


How to Be a Team Leader in One <s>Easy</s> Lesson

by turnonmyheels



Category: Friday Night Lights
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-29
Updated: 2010-06-29
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turnonmyheels/pseuds/turnonmyheels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series.  Matt's been bumped up to Varsity and the guys aren't giving him any respect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Be a Team Leader in One <s>Easy</s> Lesson

Matt winced as his shoulders tightened and _ached_ as he pulled his practice jersey and pads off in one motion. The turf burns on his forearms itched. Scabs and bruises were starting to bloom on his shin where he'd been kicked and cleated during a tackling drill. He wasn't good enough for Varsity. He knew it. The team knew it. And he knew they knew it. Moving up Sophomore year would be the highlight of many players' high school careers. Not Matt's though, moving from JayVee to Varsity was only getting his ass kicked.

To make matters worse, there was something going on with the Offense, something familiar, yet not. He kept getting flashbacks to Freshman year and the Naked Mile, not his best moment and one he'd rather not think about. Ever again. For like, the rest of his life. Whispers of "fresh meat" and chuckles that made him blush -- though he couldn't say why -- kept bringing it back to mind. Him and the rest of the Freshmen running like hell hoping no one saw or ever found out. He kept trying to clear it out of his head, but Street's wide-open smile wasn't reassuring when it was paired with Riggins' dead-eyed stare and the gleam of ... something Matt wasn't sure he was old enough to name in Smash's entire attitude towards him.

Lockers slammed around him, water ran in the showers, the team was laughing and joking, snapping towels at each other. Normal, everyday locker room sounds that were louder, sharper. He shook his head, trying to kill the ringing in his ears that had started with a knee to his helmet and showed no signs of stopping. Matt peeled off his pants and pads and sat down before he unlaced his cleats. He needed a hot shower, about three gallons of Gatorade, an hour in the whirpool (his nuts tried to crawl up into his body just thinking about it), and to sleep the rest of the day. Instead, he faced another long shift at the Alamo Freeze, serving burgers and shakes to the guys that'd just spent two hours knocking him around. He mentally thanked God today wasn't a two-a-day.

He grabbed his Gatorade bottle from his locker and slammed it down. It cooled the burn in his throat from shouting calls and washed away the dirt he'd eaten when 54 sacked him even though it was against the rules. He had no business being here, every hit he'd taken had proved that. Everyone knows you're not supposed to hit the QB in practice. If Matt had to guess he'd say they hit him just to prove he didn't belong.

"What're you waitin' on Matty? An invitation? Hit the showers, bro." Matt glanced up at Smash and his blinding white smile, and felt a wave of dread slide over him. What did Smash care if he showered? But Smash was gone, towel wrapped snuggly around his waist, just below the dimples that Matt had spent a good two weeks drawing in Art II. Smash and the rest of the guys may have been loud-mouthed punks, but they made wonderful models, eager to pull off their shirts and flex their muscles. It didn't hurt that their teachers gave them extra credit for doing it.

"Street!" Coach Taylor's voice echoed in the locker room. "Make sure to lock up and drop the keys by my office."

Matt stepped out of his jock and wrapped his towel around his waist, then headed for the showers. Pretty much everybody had cleared out. Except Jason. Other than Riggins at one end and Smash at the other, the showers were empty too -- he must have taken a lot longer than he'd thought getting out of his pads. Smash stood facing the door, scrubbing his head. Matt looked away and found a shower in the middle, not too close to either of the guys. He dropped his towel on the bench in the middle of the room and turned the shower on as hot as it would go, letting the water beat down on him and groaned a little when he felt one of the knots on his shoulder begin to loosen up. He turned around and let the water beat across his shoulders and opened his eyes. Tim Riggins had his hand on his dick and was staring at him.

No way. No way was Tim Riggins beating off in the shower room. Why would Riggins even _need_ to beat off? It's not like he didn't have half a dozen Rally Girls at his beck and call 24/7. Matt snapped his eyes closed and turned the other way. He breathed deeply and looked toward Smash, hoping to follow his lead in how to handle the situation. Except, instead of looking at Smash's face he found he was looking below the waist. Smash wasn't beating off, but his dick was big and getting bigger the longer Saracen looked. He tore his eyes away and looked at Smash's face to see if he'd been caught staring and Smash met his gaze and winked at him.

Jesus. _Jesus Christ_. Everyone in town knew Riggins and Smash hated each other. Their feud was a secret to exactly no one. Yet they weren't fighting now. Instead, here Matt stood, caught between them in the showers, like some scene out of _Prison House Bitches_ except it was guys and not girls and Jesus Christ. They didn't teach you how to handle this in JayVee.

Matt squeezed his eyes shut and reached for his soap. Obviously, the best thing to do was get out before it came to blows ... not blows, bad word ... something between those two.

"That's the sign of a good team, waiting for your leader."

Matt whipped around and there was Jason Street. Standing naked in the doorway with an expression on his face that made Matt feel like a 12 point buck under the scope of a dozen hunters.

"Don't look like your boy's waitin' to me." Smash jerked his chin in Riggins direction and Matt couldn't help but look and sure enough, Riggins was still jerking off and holy hell, coming all over his fist.

"You know Riggs. He can't wait to get off no matter what." Jason shot Riggins a glare and Matt swallowed hard. No way. No way was he sticking around to see what these guys had in mind. This was crazy. He turned the water off and grabbed his towel off the bench, not stopping to wipe off the soap bubbles sliding down his body. He was nearly to the door when he felt a hand close around his wrist.

"Uh-uh." Riggins squeezed his wrist hard enough Matt could feel his bones ground together. "You ain't goin' nowhere."

Matt stammered over his tongue suddenly too thick and heavy in his mouth. "I-I-I-I've gotta go t-to work."

"You got that right." Smash said in his ear. "You got work to do right here." Smash had his own dick in hand, squeezing it at the base and rubbing the head along the curve of Matt's thigh.

"N-n-naw, man. I'm not l-l-l-like that." Matt stammered out, head shaking rapidly back and forth. He tried repeatedly and failed to pull his arm from Riggins' grasp.

"Not like what, Matty? Not good enough to take one for the team?"

"That's no attitude for a QB to take, Saracen." Jason's tall, taller than the other guys, and when he stepped into Matt's personal space his dick rubbed against Saracen's belly, right over the first signs of the washboard abs Matt'd been working on for years. "QB's got to be ready to sacrifice. Got to scramble and make the down, get that extra yard, take the hit. None of that pansy-ass hiding in the pocket bull-shit." They've closed in on him. Street in the front, Smash on the side, and Riggins in the rear.

God. Not rear. Behind him. Jesus. Not that either.

"I've watched you, you know. You've got a good arm, but your feet are slow, and you've got zero instincts." Street said, circling his dick along Matt's abs.

If he weren't naked, in the shower, with three guys surrounding him rubbing their dicks against him, leaving little trails of sticky behind, Matt might be proud that Jason Street, the best quarterback Dillon High had ever had, was watching _him_. There was no room for pride here, not like this, trapped and in a situation entirely out of his control. He couldn't get out of this no matter how hard he tried. Not without super powers, any of these guys could kick his ass any given day and all three of them ... totally insurmountable.

"W-wh-what do you w-want me to do?" He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping against hope that if he opened them again he'd find out this was just a dream.

"We want you to find your instincts and learn how to trust them." Jason said.

Matt swallowed and stuttered out, "hh-h-how am I going to do that?"

"Right here, right now, do you trust me?" Jason was close enough that Matt could feel his breath on his face. "Open your eyes, look at me, and tell me if you trust me."

Matt opened his eyes and found his reality had changed somewhat. He wasn't waking up in his own bed, he was still trapped in the locker room with a bunch of naked guys. But now, Street was right up in his face, close enough to kiss if he thought about it like that, Riggins was kneeling on the tiled floor in front of him and Smash was -- oh god -- Smash was behind him, grabbing his arms and pinning them to his side. Matt shook his head and fought like hell _not_ to fight, desperate not to make the situation any worse than it already was. "N-n-n-no."

Jason tsked and moved to lean into Matt's side. He licked Matt's throat starting at the bottom and ending at his ear. Matt shuddered under the easy glide, horrified as he felt his own dick twitch. "You should always trust your teammates, Saracen. You can't win without them." Jason reached out and stroked a thumb down Matt's cheek. Matt jerked away, hissing, only to have his head rest against Smash's shoulder. He tried pulling away again, but Jason cupped his hand around Matt's jaw and held him in place.

"You've got to trust your receivers to know their routes, to be where you throw the ball." Smash shifted his grip so that one arm had Matt's pinned and the other was holding him across the belly. "You've got to trust that your 'backs are fast enough, strong enough to get down the field." Smash's fingers spread on his belly, his pinky toying with the beginnings of Matt's treasure trail. "You've got to have faith that your offensive line isn't going to let anyone through to pound you into the turf." Riggins dug the fingertips of both hands into Matt's hips and squeezed. "You've got to _believe_ that the defense is going to hold the other team down." Jason moved in closer still and breathed his final words onto Matt's lips. "If you trust and have faith and believe in your teammates there's nothing they won't do for you."

He felt Riggins kiss the tip of his dick and suck him in (ohgodohgodohgod) on the final word. He hadn't been hard, in fact his junk had pretty much crawled up inside out of fear, but the heat and wet and (ohgodohgod) tightslicksuck of Riggins mouth had him at full mast in seconds. Smash's hand slid down and fondled his balls and (ohgodohgodohgod) he'd never even so much as kissed anyone but his grandma on the cheek in his entire life and now (ohgodohgodohgod oh **god**) he was having his first blowjob - from a guy - and he was _shit_ coming. Matt's knees gave out, but before he could bust his ass on the wet tile all three of them caught him up between them. Smash held him up, Riggins massaging his hands into Matt's legs and Jason, ohgod Jason _still_ hadn't shut up.

"See? Nothing they won't do for you. But you're not ready for it yet. You don't have any trust in your team and worse, you don't have any faith in yourself." Smash and Riggins get him to the bench and Matt rests his elbows on his knees, head down, staring at his half-hard dick. "That's why they keep sacking you at practice. That's why your receivers always run the wrong route. Why even Smash keeps dropping your hand-offs." Someone steps in close, grabs his hair and jerks his head back. It's Jason, of course it's Jason. "You can't play at being the leader, you have to be the leader, all the time. Everywhere you go. Own up to it. Man up. Get it done." Smash comes up behind Jason. Towel wrapped around his waist, looking for all the world like nothing just happened. Riggins steps up on the other side of Jason, still naked, dick hard and getting harder as he rubs it along the curve of Jason's hip. "When you do, there's nothing they won't do for you."

"Come on Matty." Smash said and tossed Matt a towel. Matt wrapped it around his waist and followed Smash to the locker room. Turning the corner he saw Jason leaning against the shower wall, water pouring over his head, steam just starting to rise, and Riggins pressed against him dick to dick, mouths fused together.

And thinks about Jason's words.

_There's nothing they won't do._

He shakes his head to clear out the thoughts. There's no way that'd ever be him. Not unless Jason got killed or something, and it's not like that was going to happen.

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time Moosesal, Stoney321 and I talked about writing a collaborative gang bang. We never managed to get around to do doing that. I fiddled with it off and on and just couldn't get the guys to gang bang Saracen. Three years later I decided to take out the gang bang and wound up with this instead.


End file.
